Her Kilt-Clad Rogue Read Free

supper. It seemed she would need more strength than expected to handle this young Scottish boy.
     
    Genevieve had rested little more than an hour when a young servant named Lucinda unexpectedly awakened her.
    “I’m sorry, miss,” the young woman said as Genevieve opened the door. “But the master has requested your presence in the library at once.”
    She wasn’t anywhere near prepared to meet Connor, but the girl stood in the corridor, looking at her nervously enough that Genevieve got the distinct impression that one did not simply say no to Connor Douglas. What was it Malcom had said about Connor running the castle with an iron fist?
    Genevieve smoothed down her skirts and ran a comb through her unruly brown hair. She might have taken a few moments to re-braid it, but Lucinda hovered by the door, her body language clearly indicating that Genevieve should not tarry long.
    She swallowed her irritation. Had Connor not the decency to permit her a suitable period of respite from her journey? What could be so important that he could not wait to see her until supper?
    The hand holding the brush faltered and then stopped mid-stroke. What if Ewan had already gone to his father to complain of her? A sense of dread crept over her. Would her position here be over before it had even started? Where would she go? Pressing her lips together, she yanked her hair back and pinned it loose at the nape of her neck. At this point in time, the condition of her hair and gown was the least of her worries.
    She took a moment to compose herself. “I’m ready.”
    “This way, miss.” The girl practically ran down the hallway.
    Genevieve lifted her skirts and hastened after her. Her heart pounded hard. Whether it was from the anticipation of meeting Connor again or from the exertion of keeping up with the young girl, she did not know. She wondered what she would do if he decided her unsuitable on the spot, and then dismissed the thought, believing that even he would have to give her an opportunity to prove herself.
    Lifting her chin, she strode forward, stopping as Lucinda lifted her hand and knocked on the wooden door.
    A deep voice came from behind the door. “Enter.”
    Lucinda pushed it open but did not cross the threshold. Instead she motioned Genevieve inside. She crossed the threshold, trying not to wince as Lucinda shut the door so fast it rapped her on the bum.
    Connor sat behind a desk, examining what appeared to be a ledger. Ten years had changed him little. He appeared as breathtakingly handsome as she remembered, his presence somehow imposing even from a sitting position. When he glanced up, she noticed at once that his long, thick hair remained as black as the night and his eyes the same piercing blue. His face had matured into hard angles and lines, and yet was softened by what she could only call a careless, dangerous sensuality. He wore a dark brown waistcoat atop a crisp white linen shirt, but his neckcloth had been removed and his throat was bare. Tension hummed in the air as his cool, aloof gaze raked over her.
    He rose from the chair, addressing her formally. “Miss Fitzsimmons.”
    The intimacy of many summers past was clearly gone. Not that she had expected otherwise. Still, the politeness in his voice hurt.
    He continued. “’Tis my great fortune to once again have the pleasure o’ your company. It has been some time since we last met, ten years if I recall correctly.”
    If he recalled correctly. The cad.
    She, on the other hand, remembered every detail of their last time together—the golden moon, the way the summer breeze blew through his hair as he leaned down to kiss her. The memory rushed at her now like a fire through her mind, sending a blazing heat through her veins.
    “Miss Fitzsimmons?”
    His voice was still rich as ever, tempered only by the peculiar and sensual roll of his Scottish burr. Even now her senses tingled.
    “Yes? I…I am here.” She hated herself for sounding like a child stating the